


A Flower of the Mountain

by busaikko



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Apocalypse, Illnesses, M/M, Open Relationships, Post Episode: s05e20 Enemy at the Gate, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>David wished John were more like his plants, something he had a natural affinity for.</i>  John and David before, during, and after the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking Up

**Author's Note:**

> > "...I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes. " James Joyce  
> 

The great thing about Atlantis, David discovered, was that hardly anyone wanted a permanent or long-lasting relationship. No-strings sex was as common as video nights in the labs or pick-up basketball games. As far as David knew, Rodney McKay was the only person who didn't understand that the scene on Atlantis was about finding amenable fuckbuddies, not soulmates. David had never in his life wanted to settle down and he didn't do love or romance, so it suited him to a T.

When he'd arrived, he asked the other botanists just why Atlantis was like that. _Stress relief_ was the most common answer, followed by statistics. The average length of an SGC contract. The number of hours typically worked, and the percentage of scientists who were married to their jobs. The chance of horrific injury, illness or exposure to radiation, on Atlantis and on the away teams. The number of bodies returned to Earth, and the number never retrieved. Dr Kiang also pointed out that the SGC didn't post anyone legally married or with underage children to Pegasus. Everyone, she said with a wink, was potentially available.

David had given her a thin smile. "Sorry," he said. "I'm gay."

She'd shrugged. "I hear Sheppard turns a blind eye to what his Marines get up to. Some of them," she added, "are _gorgeous_."

Over the next three years, David saw a lot of gorgeous Marines come and go. He slept with a lot of them. As far as he could tell, the only firm rules were safe sex always, and don't fuck people on your team.

"Or in your chain of command," Lorne supplied, one time when they were trapped in a jumper offworld and had already exhausted the topics of sports and popular movies. A game of fuck-marry-cliff had turned into a discussion of sex, mostly because David was sure Lorne was sleeping with _someone_ (or _some people_ ) regularly and he wanted to know _who_.

"So I can't sleep with McKay, and you can't sleep with Sheppard," David said. Lorne's forehead wrinkled at the idea. David eyed him. Lorne wasn't homophobic, but David still didn't know which way he swung. "Sheppard's kind of hot," he suggested. Besides free love, Atlantis was also really into athletics, and David knew Sheppard (and his gorgeous upper arms) from golf and tennis tournaments, rock climbing on the mainland, and the annual All-Atlantis Marathon. Lorne balled up a powerbar wrapper and threw it half-heartedly in David's direction. It fell to the floor just short of his feet. "Sheppard, Carter, or Caldwell," he asked, just to be a dick.

Lorne grinned. "Cliff Carter, because she'll escape anyway, and also I hear she's got someone already. Fuck Caldwell, because he seems like he'd be really hot in bed, and have you seen his ass? Marry Sheppard. He's got great curtains, I'm sure he'd make a lovely housewife."

"Huh," David said, considering. He'd cliff Sheppard and marry Carter just to make McKay apoplectic. "I agree about Caldwell."

Lorne pointed at him. "Theoretically speaking."

"Right," David conceded sarcastically. "His theoretical ass."

David forgot all about the conversation once they were rescued and he was able to get back to his greenhouses and research; team bonding was like that, social lubrication where the act of communication was more important than the content. Or so he'd been told by Kate Heightmeyer, back in his first year, when she was working on a presentation for the SGC on team dynamics.

A month or so after that, David ran into Sheppard as he was coming out of the gym. Sheppard's hair was dark with sweat, and his t-shirt clung to his chest. He had a dark bruise down his arm and a towel around his neck, which he used to scrub his face as he gave David a grin.

"Hey, Doc."

"Colonel," David replied. He hated being called _Doc_ , but he was less irritated than he would usually be. Sheppard's sleeves were tight around the hard muscle of his arms, and his nipples were showing through the thin fabric. Little things like that made it worth getting up in the morning.

"I wanted to ask you," Sheppard went on, "I got some new movies on the last Daedalus run," and now David was surprised. He expected pleasantries but not conversation from Sheppard; they were acquaintances, not friends. Sheppard was a little wide-eyed, like he hadn't expected to say that any more than David expected to hear it. "Maybe you'd like to come by and watch something sometime."

Sheppard looked so nervous by the time he got the last words out that David nearly thought he was being asked over for sex.

He raised an eyebrow at Sheppard, who bit his lower lip, his face darkening as if he were furious with himself.

_Holy fuck_ , David thought. He waved a finger between them. "Are you asking me – ?"

Sheppard looked queasy. "If you're seeing someone, or – " he curled his fingers vaguely in the air. "Or whatever. No problem if you say no."

General consensus on Atlantis was that Sheppard must have long-standing arrangements for sex, because he didn't sleep around, as far as the rumor mill knew. He was also, according to McKay, unassailably straight.

"Sunday night, your place? Seven o'clock?" David suggested, and Sheppard's shoulders dropped with a sudden release of tension that made him look almost like a different person.

He grinned, and this new Sheppard seemed playful – happy. "Sunday night," Sheppard agreed, and there was a sway to his hips as he walked away. David studied his ass. Not a Caldwell level of perfection, but not bad.

Sunday night, Sheppard wore tan trousers and a blue plaid button-down shirt. David pushed him up against the door as soon as he was inside, and kissed him.

"You dressed up for me," David said, curling a hand around Sheppard's waist. "I feel kind of bad wanting to get you out of your clothes ASAP."

Sheppard snorted, and tugged at the hem of David's t-shirt. "I don't feel bad about that at all," he said.

They were naked and on the too-small bed before David got a chance to ask Sheppard what he wanted to do. Sheppard wasn't starting that conversation, and it made David wonder – obviously, Sheppard wasn't entirely straight, but David thought he was too awkward and nervous to have a lot of experience sleeping with men. Experimenting, maybe, or repressed or closeted, which meant that no matter how eager he was, the sex was probably going to be bad.

Still, bad sex with one of Atlantis' hottest military personnel was still something to write home about – or would have been, if not for the "don't ask, don't tell" policy, and David's family preferring not to hear about what his brother disparaged as _exploits_.

The sex was pretty good.

Good enough that David was the one who suggested afterward, when he was getting dressed, that they should do this again sometime.

Sheppard said sure, and was sexy and sweaty when he saw David out.

Sleeping with Sheppard became a quasi-regular thing after that. Between their offworld and work schedules, it wasn't as easy as David's hook-ups with the other scientists, or going to one of the get-drunk-and-fuck parties that the Marines threw. David was lucky to get Sheppard alone twice a month, which made it even harder to not get distracted when they shared time on the driving range together. But Sheppard was fun. He liked kissing and always asked David what he'd been up to. Sometimes they really did watch videos and make out on Sheppard's sofa like horny teenagers. He let David fuck him and said, sounding confused, that no, it wasn't his first time. But after, in the dark, wrapped in David's arms, he said it was the first time he'd liked it.

David never wondered who else Sheppard was sleeping with, and Sheppard never told him, or asked him about himself. They obeyed the rules and always used condoms. After a couple of months, when the surprise and mystique of having _Colonel Sheppard_ sucking his dick had worn off, David discovered that along the way he'd started to like Sheppard as a person. Liked _John._

It was very cool, until John found out David was also sleeping with pretty much anyone who asked, and David found out that John... wasn't. That for John, he was the only one.

David was equal parts regretful and angry. He wouldn't have hurt John on purpose, but he wound up hurting John by accident, and things changed.

He assumed that they'd stop seeing each other, but it turned out John didn't want that.

David didn't ask how John had thought of what they did before the misunderstanding came to light – if he'd considered David his boyfriend or partner or significant other, or if he'd avoided applying labels. In retrospect, he'd obviously operated according to relationship rules that he'd assumed David knew. David for his part had thought John was sweet and goofy, uninhibited in bed and cool to hang out with, without realizing that was because he'd been special to John. Unique. David was sorry now, but not sorry enough to stop sleeping with John when he came around.

The whole situation was a trainwreck.

John never stayed the night now. He got dressed in the dark while David drowsed after sex. He didn't kiss when they weren't fucking, and he didn't talk about his day or try to entice David into learning to surf. He acted like he assumed David didn't care, or as if he had to work not to give too much of himself away.

If David weren't a verifiable asshole, he thought sometimes, he'd let John go, tell him to find someone who loved him back and wouldn't hurt him.


	2. Dying

The pandemic starting so soon after the ZPM-powered hive ship exploded in Earth orbit was not assumed to be a coincidence by anyone who knew about the Wraith.

The SGC began a campaign of partial declassification as soon as the disease's origins were confirmed to be alien. As predicted, no one on Earth was happy to learn that a coalition of nations had conspired to hide the existence of life on other planets, advanced technology, and the construction of intergalactic spaceships with American tax dollars. There were riots; impeachment proceedings were brought immediately against the US president; and the United Nations was torn apart by the inherent unfairness of a handful of nations conspiring to profit from the Stargates.

John disappeared for weeks at a time, and as the head of the team that had been studying the medicinal properties of Pegasus medicinal plants like enchuri, David was up to his ears in work at Area 51's hastily-constructed xenobiomedical center. The pandemic was caused by a rapidly mutating virus that remained mostly asymtomatic for the initial ten-day infectious period, and then brought fatigue, headache, and muscle and joint pain as the fever started rising. Massive hemorrhaging in the brain followed, and then death. David had had Kirsan fever when it swept through Atlantis; he recognized the similarities immediately. The questions were whether enchuri would work on mutated – probably weaponized – Kirsan; just what _else_ the Wraith might have added to the virus; and whether enough medicine for billions of people could be manufactured with current Earth technology.

The answers, six months after Atlantis came to Earth, were still unsatisfactory, and David found out what John had been fighting so hard for: the United Nations decided to send Atlantis back to Pegasus, in search of a cure.

David pulled every string he could to make sure he was on the list of people being considered for the mission. He wasn't surprised when he got the request to report to a briefing at the SGC. He'd already said his goodbyes to everyone on Earth he cared about.

"Gentlemen. Ladies," General Landry concluded, and David blinked back to awareness. The speech had been built from cliches hodgepodged together like Lego bricks, and he'd been mentally going over his supply lists. They couldn't count on visits from the Daedalus, John had said, which was a horrible and terrifying thought. Well. _All_ of this was. At the front of the room, Landry put his shoulders back and stared as if he was seeing beyond all the assembled experts and their data, into the uncertain future. "The situation doesn't look good. But humanity's not going down without a fight."

A low hum of anticipation filled the air. Parrish could feel the tension.

"Most of you have been given your first-choice assignments. We do understand that chances are those positions will be one-way, and terminal." He swept a grim smile over the crowd. "Unless we beat this thing, none of you will be seeing Earth again. But we need results. ASAP."

Landry finally sat back down again, crossing his hands on the table before him, and the lieutenant with the thankless job of reading names into the mike took over.

"Parrish, David Joel," David heard, and stood in nervous anticipation. "Department head, Botany, Atlantis."

His shoulders dropped in relief, and he moved to the side of the room automatically, collecting his uniform patches and handing over his tablet to have all the relevant paperwork uploaded.

And then he gated back to Atlantis, already poised for take-off at the edge of the solar system, and got busy trying to save humanity.

* 

He didn't see John until they had been back in Pegasus for a week. David wasn't surprised: after all, Atlantis had landed on a brand new planet, and the administration was busy getting the gate online and making sure that there was nothing in the air or the water that would kill them all. And astrobotany had had no downtime since entering hyperspace, as the dire situation on Earth meant they left with minimal rations. Work hours and personnel had been diverted into food production.

David was frustrated with how much time he'd spent away from working on a cure. Becoming intimately acquainted with the production of various kinds of tofu in no way compensated. As department head, he couldn't outright say that he agreed with the people who grumbled that their skills were being wasted. But when he collapsed into bed every night, he drifted into sleep on a gray cloud of petty resentments.

John came over one evening, looking jittery, and David needed and welcomed the distraction. He asked John to fuck him. It was _fantastic_ , dirty and sweaty, John rough with desperation and David bent in half under him, body screaming in protest and wanting more. John came first, with a long drawn-out groan and his hands on David's legs tightening hard enough to bruise. When John came off his high, he pulled out carefully and then went down on David, sucking his cock like he was starving. David was too mindless with need to think about safe sex, and he came in John's mouth. He could feel John swallowing – struggling to swallow – and his hips jerked like he wanted to drive his cock straight down John's throat. John didn't stop him, John just took it, and David's mind whited out, subsumed by pleasure.

John tasted like come when they kissed afterward, and David shivered when John's fingers brushed over new bruises, his face a mixture of concentration and wonder.

"Stay," David said, wrapping his fingers around John's wrist. "Sleep here tonight." He thought about adding that John _used_ to, sometimes, when the thing between them had been simple. "I want to wake up with you."

John made an impatient noise and tugged free, gently but resolutely. "I don't." David couldn't see his face in the dark. "I hate," and he paused; his voice when he continued was expressionless, "remembering. I don't want to forget in my sleep, wake up, and make a fool of myself all over again."

David flinched. When John'd found out – by walking in on David and Fergus Kim, which was the absolute worst possible way to find out – that he wasn't the only person David slept with, David had laughed – from incredulity and nerves and surprise, and because John'd looked terrifying. It had been the first time David had seen John look like a cold-blooded killer, and David had been naked and John had been armed. But John hadn't done anything, just stood, and looked, and then turned right around, going silently out the door.

David was still in the convoluted process of learning the whole picture, and it was shaming to think that John was policing himself – and not to keep David from harm, but because David had hurt John so badly that he was still bleeding.

"I never thought you were a fool," David started, post-coital lethargy washed away with old shame, head clearing and stomach twisting. "We both made wrong assumptions. I wish there was a way to go back and say the things that needed to be said."

John was getting dressed, and David could see his dim outline; saw him pause in the middle of turning his t-shirt right-side out. He sounded fond when he spoke, or at least amused, and shrugged loosely before pulling the shirt over his head. "So long as we both keep our eyes open, there's nothing to talk about." John tucked his shirt in haphazard, jerked his belt tight, and shoved his feet into his boots. He gave David a sketchy, unmilitary salute, probably sarcastic. David couldn't see his face, but John sounded perfectly normal. "Meet me for dinner tomorrow?"

David's breath caught in his throat, which was fortunate. It stopped him from saying the first thing that popped into his head, which was _What, in the mess hall? In public? Are you nuts?_ And then he remembered that the world was ending, and John was going to die anyway, along with everybody else.

"Sure," he said, his voice only a little rough. "What time do you want me to pick you up?"

John sounded almost relieved when he said _seven?_

Of course, David was both a botanist and a confirmed asshole, so he made sure to bring John a bouquet of enchuri flowers and presented them with a flourish in the office John shared with Lorne.

"I'm sorry, sir," Lorne said, when John gave him a helpless look and asked for a vase. "Just humor him." He rummaged in the storage locker and emerged triumphantly with a plastic bucket.

John plonked the flowers in and told Lorne to give them some water and leave them on his desk.

Out in the corridor, David told John that he wouldn't recognize romance if it bit him on the ass. John shrugged and agreed. But their dinner was fun, if not delicious, and they walked back to David's quarters along the No. 6a balcony, close enough that they could have held hands. 

John came in for slow, sweet, romantic sex and left in the dark again. David had made sure he had a well-placed bite mark on his ass, so John'd think of him as he sat at his desk and stared at his bucket of dying flowers.

David snagged one of the potted enchuri on his way into the lab, and set it down at one end of his worktable, as his own reminder. The flowers were pale purple and trumpet-shaped, and Katie had already collected the pollen from this one. The barcode on the pot identified the world where it had been collected; it belonged to Group 5, the plants whose active metabolites had nasty gastrointestinal side effects.

He plowed through all the overnight drug trial data from the quarantine wards, looking for any sign that the latest round of drugs being tested was effective. It had been a bad night: sixteen people had broken out in hives, and one had died. David made nice sterile charts and graphs for his report to astrobotany, and sent a copy to xenopharmacology as well. He wanted to go offworld and follow up on some of the information Ronon Dex had brought back from Sateda, so he ignored his impending headache and wrote up a proposal to submit to Lorne. The Ancient database was amazing, but it was missing ten thousand years of recent history, in which the Satedans had developed advanced medicine pretty much from scratch. Surely some knowledge of mutations both in the disease and in the enchuri plant must have survived the culling of Sateda.

By the time David was finished, he'd missed lunch and was far too cranky to be social, so he buried himself in Greenhouse 2 until the rhythm of his hands had anchored him. Humanity could come and go, as the Nox and the Asgard had, and plant life would continue. The universe had its own mechanisms for carrying life from one world to another, albeit slower and more unpredictable than stargates. Earth could and would survive without humanity. It had before.

David took comfort in that; he always had. But he also believed in personal responsibility: he had a duty to protect the environment, give his voice to endangered species, save the people of Earth if he could, die trying if he couldn't.

David looked down at his hands. He had dirt under his nails and highlighting the lines on his palms, and probably all through his hair. He always forgot not to run his fingers through it. He didn't like to imagine himself without this connection to the great continuum of living things, his hands in the soil, sun on his face.

He had never wanted another person as much as he wanted to work with plants. He loved sex and didn't enjoy going without for long periods of time, but he'd been for the most part retroactively relieved that John hadn't asked for monogamy or commitment. Some of the other people he had been sleeping with were good friends, or fun to fuck around with, or kinky in ways David enjoyed playing with sometimes.

But things were different now. Atlantis was driven by purpose; every dial-in from Earth came with new death tolls and reports of failed drug tests. Everyone dreaded getting letters from home. No one took days off unless forced by medical personnel. The population of Earth had become a ticking countdown, and they were racing to beat the clock.

He wanted to keep sleeping with John. He was selfish that way. But it felt wrong. David firmly believed that life was too short for jealousy. He didn't want John getting hurt – knowing from experience how easy it was to hurt John. He also, and he knew this was petty and horrible, didn't want John finding someone else to be happy with.

He wished John were more like his plants, something he had a natural affinity for.

Once upon a time, David had made John happy. He missed how open and affectionate John had been, especially now. His days were full of experiments, drug trials, and research in the Ancient database, and any results were inconclusive at best and fatal at worst. He worked in the same labs as before, was on the same gate team, and was still sleeping with John, but it felt as if he'd gone through a mirror into a universe where all these familiar things filled him with trepidation and fear.

John didn't come to pick him up for dinner, but when David went to John's quarters later, John let him in. John always let him in, except for when he was offworld. John let him in and took him apart, and when David left he carried with him something that felt like hope. That was the pattern they settled into, two or three nights a week. Sometimes David let John in; what they had was reciprocal. John was always game to try new things, but mostly they had fast, desperate sex. On David's bed, John's floor, in the shower, up against the wall, over the desk, sometimes not even undressing all the way. David always had new and unusual bruises when he woke alone in the morning.

He was a little amazed that no one noticed. But Lorne never said anything, and David trusted that he would. He didn't want to jeopardize John's career, even though he suspected that no one cared these days about queer military officers.

When Kiang came down with a fever, she called Quarantine herself and they took her away. The lab was unnaturally silent without her chatter. David took a card and flowers up to her from all of them, but hadn't been allowed to see her. Dr Keller looked very, very tired, and told David to have everyone who'd worked with Kiang take care and precautions.

Kiang had been on Atlantis when Kirsan fever swept through the Earth expedition. She wasn't the first person to discover that she wasn't immune to the new mutation, but David remembered how it had been the last time. How he and Kiang and Kim had all gone to visit Katie Brown in the infirmary, and found McKay holding her hand, on the verge of tears. And then all of them came down with the headache and disorientation. David didn't know what Kim had ended up doing. He'd been left with no memories save the bone-deep conviction that he had to take care of the hydroponics garden, and Kiang had been with him. For weeks afterward, they'd dealt with what happened by joking: pretending to forget each others' names and asking, _Do you work here?_

Last time, a cure had been found. Last time, they'd only lost four people. The current death toll was 45 million and rising, and just thinking about it made David feel sick. He had a spreadsheet of the funeral arrangements filed by every person in his department. What he _needed_ was a cure.

He got to John's room before John was home, and walked the seven stories up to the top of the residential tower to kill time. This planet didn't have any moons. The stars were incredible, and they made David feel insignificant. He walked back down again, knees protesting the activity because he had no time to exercise these days, and when he knocked John was there.

"Tonight," David said, pacing and feeling like he was on the verge of hyperventilation, "could we – I just want you to hold me. I know... that's not what we do, but everything's falling apart and I can't do anything about it."

"Jesus," John said, and shut his eyes for a second before tugging a blanket off the bed. He settled down on the sofa and made room for David, wrapping him in the blanket as he sat, John's arms a warm surrounding circle. One hand stroked his arm in tentative, abortive little arcs; John's stiffness betrayed how unused to giving comfort he was, but at least he was trying. Kiang gave the best hugs in the whole astrobotany department, but she never would again because the disease had her now. David pressed his face into the space between John's shoulder and neck and let go, shaking until his breath came in wet gasps.

John didn't say much, just a generic white noise of murmured phrases, _it's okay_ and _I've got you_. David fell asleep like that, and when he woke he was still on the sofa, still tangled up with John, who was snoring, his head at an uncomfortable angle. David extricated himself, planning on using the toilet, but then realized he could escape so he did.

He didn't have an opportunity to talk with John or apologize for over a week; John was off negotiating with the Wraith again. When he came back and made tentative overtures of concern, David was irritable and snappish, prickling at everything John said or did as if he was being accused, all the while burning with the embarrassment of knowing he was the one being unreasonable.

"Look," John said finally. They were out walking to the end of the north pier and back, because David didn't know if he even wanted to touch John right now. John had his arms crossed, frowning like David's mood had finally rubbed off. "I get it. There's no atheists in foxholes, that doesn't mean everyone goes home stuck in _praise God hallelujah_ mode. Everything's going to hell, you're fucking _forgiven_ for wanting to be loved when we could all die tomorrow. When you've got this thing solved, crisis averted, you can go right back to screwing every guy who crosses your path. I don't mind."

David shook his hands out. He had to take hand-to-hand with Ronon every six months to stay on the gate team, so he knew how to punch someone without breaking his own thumb. He didn't want to hit John, but he didn't know what else to do with his anger. "You _should_. Why don't you hate me?" He sucked in a breath. "I don't understand you."

John sighed, and David realized suddenly that John looked cold, out here in just his t-shirt. The setting sun was brilliant, but the rising evening winds stripped the air of all warmth. John's gray hair caught the light, and David was sure his own was just as obvious. He was too old for this, he thought. He wished John was needy, because then he'd have an excuse for just ending this thing right now, right here. But David was the one falling apart and all he really wanted was to warm John up in his arms and make John smile the way he used to.

"Let me know when you figure it out," John said after a long, horrible silence. He gave David a nod and turned to walk back toward the stairs.

"I can't make any promises," David called after him, hoping the words didn't get lost in the wind.

John half-turned to look back at him, and David _wanted_ him more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.

"I have never asked for a single fucking thing from you," John said, and he looked as terrifying as he had when he'd walked in on David and Kim.

But he waited for David to walk over to him and let David hold his hand until they were back indoors. There was a small decorative niche out of the sight-line of the transporter, and David shoved John in, pushing him up against the glowing glass-block wall and kissing him like a punishment. He shoved his leg between John's, forcing him to widen his stance, and pushed John's shirt up with both hands. He wasn't gentle when he pinched John's nipples or pressed his thigh up against John's cock. He bit his way down John's neck, leaving a trail of bruises before John came to awareness and tried to push him off.

"Let me," David said, and bit down harder when John said _Don't._

John growled, deep down in his throat, and grabbed a fistful of David's hair. He yanked and twisted, and David found himself turned around, shoulders hitting the wall and then John holding him there. He was fine with that, though, catching hold of John's belt and whipping the end free, pushing John's pants down enough to give himself room to slide his fingers down under the waistband and curl around John's ass.

"Not here," John said urgently, but David rolled his hips up hard enough to make John buck and thrust back. " _Fuck._."

"Come on." David pressed his leg up against John's hard cock and reached down, pressing his fingers up to massage the sweet spot behind John's balls. John slumped forward, catching himself with a hand splayed on the wall next to David's head, and David kissed him as John started to rub himself helplessly. David pressed his thumb over John's hole and John jerked as if electrified, eyes going wide, but his body opened to the pressure, letting David slide just inside the ring of muscle and twist his thumb there. John shouted, and came, ass clenching hard and head thrown back, hips driving forward to pin David to the wall.

For a long, long moment, the only sounds were their harsh breathing, and then John slid down and out of David's hands, freeing David's cock from his khakis with practiced ease and swallowing him down. It was perfect but David wanted more, pushing in harder and deeper, feeling John push back until suddenly the fight went out of him and David was cutting of John's air. It was terrifying to have that much power, but each time he pulled back John gave him a challenging glare from his watering eyes.

David wished he could do this to John in the gate room, in front of the Marines, in front of his gate team, make him so hungry for cock that he gagged himself, make everyone see just what kind of person John really was. He imagined Lorne's shocked face, and the way John would flush with shame, and came suddenly without warning and startled John into really choking. 

David sank down the wall and thumped John's shoulders with his hand in a gesture of helpfulness that wasn't actually helpful in any way. John wheezed, and coughed, and batted David's arm away, and when he opened his eyes fat tears rolled free and slid down his reddened cheeks.

"I think I got come up my nose," John said, his voice raw and hoarse, and coughed again.

David was still flying on the release of tension, and even though it was _horrible_ , it was also really funny, and he had to reach out, grab John into his arms, and start laughing so hard he felt he might fall to pieces.

John tucked his head down under David's chin to wipe his face on his shirt. "You're such an _asshole_."

"I know," David said. "I _know_."

And for some reason, that was enough to make John crack up laughing, too, even though he was still coughing and rubbing at his nose.

They took the transporter back separately. No amount of finger-combing his hair could make John look less like he'd just been fucked against a wall. He had bruises on his neck and come on his shirt, and his mouth was red and swollen. David hoped he didn't run into anyone in the corridor.

The next day John sent David a short mail to let him know he was going off-world – _back to the Wraith lab dungeon_ , as John put it. David worried; everyone worried. This time, John was escorting half of their senior medical staff as well as McKay and Woolsey. Atlantis felt oddly empty and vulnerable.

David didn't think there was anything wrong with him at first. Of course he was tired all the time; he and everyone else was depressed and stressed. He had a low-level headache, but drinking too much coffee was how most people dealt with the pervasive exhaustion. He was in the habit of downing Advil to counteract the caffeine headaches when they got too bad. He didn't have much appetite, but he blamed that on the terrible cafeteria food. He'd give anything for a meal that wasn't gruel and beans, he thought, when just the smell of food made him feel nauseous. In the labs, people talked all the time about foods they missed. Humanity would never produce Fruit & Nut bars again, but they pretended they didn't know that.

David heard later that he'd attended an hour-long department-head meeting and passed out when he stood up at the end, hitting his head on the conference table as he fell. He was taken immediately to the quarantine ward, where he was treated for concussion – _Only you_ , Biro told him fondly as she checked his pupils – before taking the blood test. He dozed on a cot while waiting for his results, too distracted by the nauseating throb of his head to be really worried that he didn't remember how he got here, what had happened.

The test came back positive. He had to swap his clothes for faded blue scrubs and meet with a counselor, which apparently was procedure. She sat behind a heavy sheet of plastic, breathing different air, but wore a mask and gloves anyway.

She assured him that he'd be made as comfortable as possible, that he could continue working from the ward as long as he felt like it, and that if and when he decided that he preferred terminal measures, his wishes would be respected. She said that so far, none of the other department heads or staff in his lab showed signs of illness. But they both knew that it could take up to ten days for the disease to show.

"John Sheppard," David said, and twisted his fingers in the thin infirmary blanket that he'd been given to drape over his lap. "I exposed him. You need to make sure he's okay."

The counselor tipped her head to the side, like a curious crow, but made a note on her tablet. David was sure she'd introduced herself, but he didn't recall her name. "Anyone else?"

David shook his head, and clung harder to the blanket as the movement made the world sway and swing around him. Biro had given him something to suppress nausea, but he still knew it was there, his stomach roiling with distress.

"There's a bed open in room five. I'll have someone show you there. Try and get some sleep," she told him. "And let me know what belongings you want brought here from your quarters." She gave him an earnest look of appeal. "We want you to be comfortable."

*

Life on the Quarantine Ward sucked. There was no privacy, but that wasn't as bad as the fact that people in all stages of the disease were kept together. In between fevers, David felt almost fine, especially since he managed to keep down most of the bland diet. But he saw people who were too weak to ever get out of bed again, bodies emaciated, bruises rising up from things like the brush of a sheet. Many people opted for euthanasia before that point, of course, but more than David would have figured stuck around well past the point where they could work or communicate.

"Because of the drug trials," Kavanaugh told David, rolling his eyes. "Because _one_ of the damn drugs might work, one of these days."

David shook his head. "You won't see me get that far," he said, using his chin to indicate the bed where Phillips shuddered in the ravages of fever. "I'm not going to go through the horror show of watching my body fail all around me."

"Too late," Kavanaugh told him with an arch look. David gave him the finger, but Kavanaugh was dead by the week's end, so maybe he knew something, after all.

David kept working, in the hours he could. The exchange of data was all the contact he had left with the outside.

He knew he'd reached the endgame when the fever settled in him and didn't leave, no matter what drugs he was given. The thirst was terrible, and the muscle spasms hurt and left him breathless, on the verge of tears. He knew the drugs he was testing had managed to push the disease back more successfully than any to date. He was grateful to Kiang for the extra days her research had earned. She'd done well.

David was terrified, and he thought a lot about choosing his easy death now. But John was still out on the hive ship, or the secret base, or... David didn't remember. He'd thought the five weeks would fly by; that he'd be wrapped up in his work while John was gone. Instead, every inch of David's skin missed John's touch. Realistically, David knew the only way he'd ever feel John again was through hazmat gear, unless John was infected, and David didn't want that.

He just – God – he wanted to see John and talk to him one last time. He was too tired to type, and the motions made his hands twist and cramp. He recorded messages for John, trying not to say goodbye. Trying to sound believable. John's dream had seemed paltry: all he'd wanted was one person to love, in secret; just a few moments of being together enough, somehow, to make him happy.

David wished he could have given him that. He blamed the fever, and held on to life stubbornly. He accused the nurses of lying to him when he asked what day it was; the date of John's scheduled return had long passed, and he still wasn't home. He told himself that John wouldn't have wanted him to suffer, but fundamentally he suspected John believed in going down fighting.

He came out of fever dreams one afternoon to the feeling of cool fingers brushing his hair back. He had trouble getting his eyes focused; he was sure it was John, and he was so happy to see him, but if John was here on the Quarantine ward, face unmasked and bare skin showing – that was bad.

"You were gone," he explained, trying to catch John up to speed. "You look terrible. I wish you weren't here."

John flinched back as if David had tried to strike him, and David had to work hard to get his hand to reach out, try and get John's touch back.

"This is _quarantine_ ," he said. "I never, I didn't want you to die. Not here, not like this, not because – "

"Hey," John said, and shook David's shoulder a little. "No one's dying, okay?"

David stared at him. John was haggard, dark circles under his eyes, his hair lank, several days' worth of beard grown in. So of course David assumed he was lying.

"It's okay," David said, trying to be gentle. "Come lie down with me." He tried to move over, careful of the IVs feeding into the shunt on his arm and the sensors attached to the monitoring machinery. "You look done in."

He saw John waver, and wished he had the energy to be persuasive. But he could feel himself already falling back into sleep, the disease in him burning all his energy.

John's mouth twisted as if in apology, and he returned his hand to David's forehead. His fingers were so cool. "I came as soon as I could," John said, like he'd done something wrong.

"I missed you." David felt his eyes close, and a moment later heaviness pressed him down against the mattress. "I wanted to see you one last time."

"And here I am," John said. He got up and leaned over David, kissing him once on the cheek and once on the mouth. David tried to smile, but was asleep before he succeeded.

When he woke, John was still in the chair next to his bed, watching him through eyes narrowed with exhaustion. John's fingers were laced with David's. David blinked, the cloud of fever gone for the first time in ages. He was hungry – starving – and when he said so, John grinned ear to ear.

"Atta boy," John said, pushing up to his feet. "I'll go get you something. You stay here."

"This is real, right?" David asked. He hadn't had hallucinations before, but maybe he'd just never been this close to dying before.

John rolled his eyes, then pulled off his uniform jacket and spread it over the bed. "Hang onto this for me," he said. "Until I come back."

David touched the sleeve, the fabric worn thin and faded, and as John walked away, held on like it was a promise.


	3. Falling

"I'm going to be gone for a few days," John said abruptly, standing in their kitchen like he didn't know what to do with himself after drying the dishes and putting them away.

He probably wanted to add more, but David frowned and interrupted, saying, "I'm not leaving my home."

John reached over, holding out his hand. "No one will ask you that. Teyla's down the road if you need help, and the regular people. They'll come."

_The regular people._ David still wasn't sure he approved of John's various euphemisms, but he sighed and put his hand in John's anyway. John's fingers closed around his promptly, and John gave him a sly smile, quirking one eyebrow up.

"Where are you going?" David asked, watching John's thumb rub an arc over his skin as if in reassurance.

"Atlantis," John said. He sounded weary.

David snorted. It always was Atlantis, even though John'd been retired now for... however many years it was. When they first settled on the main island, they'd been in the port city because it was only half an hour by swift boat out to the city. But the bustle of people – Pegasans and a steady stream of traumatized refugees from Earth – was too much, and the land here was better for growing crops. David didn't do research any more, just taught basic agriculture, but he had made his peace with ending his career. After all, the work he and his staff had done saved millions of lives. He was recognized as a hero for that, and John constantly told him that he'd earned the right to have whatever the hell he wanted. John should take his own advice. "You're too old for that."

John took in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "Yeah. I am. But they need me."

"Is the war over?" David asked. He remembered that there'd been trouble recently with the Wraith. Something about the Travelers, and Replicator – or was it Asgard? – tech.

"We're losing the war," John said. David couldn't tell if that was truth or black humor or both. "Do you want dessert?"

"Don't change the subject." David was trying to hold onto thoughts that slipped away from him. He hated getting flustered, having his routine interrupted, because his brain never had recovered fully from the weeks of illness all those years ago. "Where are you going?" he asked, and when John said _Atlantis_ he felt as if he knew that, should have known that. He tried not to let his frustrated irritation show, because John blamed himself. When the cure was discovered, John had had to choose whether to deliver it to Earth or to Atlantis first, and of course John chose Earth – David would never fault him for that. Because of him, David's sisters and their families were still alive; John himself had been treated as soon as the first symptoms appeared. But John believed that David would have been less damaged if he'd had the cure even a week earlier. Sure, David always told him: and if he'd won the lottery he'd have been rich, and if he'd been born a girl he would have been named Kimberly. Obsessing over what-ifs was never productive. "No, when?"

"In the morning." John gave his hand a squeeze and then let go.

"You said you'd stay," David recalled. The memory made him smile. John had been so earnest, kissing him and saying he wasn't leaving, he didn't want to go, he wanted to stay, could he, please. David was pretty certain that even after all these years, that was the only thing John ever asked from him. He was glad that he said yes – David remembered how hard that had been at the time. He didn't want to make that decision because he was scared, or grateful, or too messed up to be desirable to anyone else. He'd wanted to be sure that he wouldn't have regrets, years down the line. But here they were now, still together, most of the time, when _the regular people_ came and went. John looked _old_ , and David had no idea when so much time had passed. There was a hitch in John's step, as if he was in pain, and David wondered how long John had been limping. How long – "When will you come back?" David asked as he got up to follow John out to the corridor, because that was important.

"Week or two," John said, stopping and turning. He put a hand on David's shoulder, then leaned in and kissed him.

David kissed back, pulling John in hip to hip, like they were dancing. He loved dancing with John when they were alone, John showing off whatever new eighties pop music he'd been able to trade for. Neither of them danced _well_ , but that made it fun, stumbling into each other and laughing.

Tonight, though, David let John nudge him back to the bedroom, kissing and unbuttoning the whole way. David was first to get undressed, his shorts and t-shirt easier to shed than John's button-down jacket and Athosian lace-up trousers, so he settled back on the bed to watch the show, John's fingers impatient with the laces and with his boots.

"What happened to your leg?" he asked, when he could see the scars. He hated the damn short-term memory loss; at his desk in the front room, he had a diary where he'd undoubtedly written everything down. He was sure he'd taken care of John, because that was what they did, took care of each other, but not having that information immediately was terrifying.

John didn't look surprised, just slid off his boxers next. He was barefoot, the way he always was in the house, and David made a show of ogling every inch of him, from his weirdly long toes to the shock of gray hair to the length of his half-hard cock.

"Broke my hip," John said. "Jumper crash." He didn't say, _Remember?_ : less a courtesy than unspoken acknowledgment that David lost things every day, including pieces of his life with John, and that was just how things were. "Kiss it and make it all better?"

"Is that a line I fall for a lot?" David asked, trying to look skeptical instead of amused.

John nodded solemnly, and then crossed the room to kiss David even as he shoved him back and settled over him.

"You fall for me all the time," John said, sounding smug as he dotted kisses along David's shoulders, his hair tickling as it brushed under his chin. He reached down between them and casually adjusted David's dick, fingers deft with practice. "Can you grab the – "

"Hang on," David said, reaching up for the jar on the headboard shelf and twisting the top off. "I guess you can't go off to Atlantis with friction burn."

"I _could_ ," John argued, but he dipped his fingers in for a generous amount of their homemade lube. David made it from the oil of a local drupe; he'd never been able to get rid of the bright yellow color, but it had a pleasant warming effect and tasted okay. David put the jar back carefully, while John ran his slick fingers between their dicks and then caught them both up in his grip, stroking slow from base to head. "If I wanted to."

David rocked his hips, eyes closing to hold in the rush of pleasure from feeling his dick slide against John's in the circle of John's fingers. "You want this more," he said, reaching up to pull John in for a kiss, one hand following the curve of John's spine down to his ass, the other brushing through John's hair. He kept the pace teasingly slow, until John was shaking with need as he moved against him – or maybe that was John's injury, David recalled suddenly, and pushed at John until he shifted to his side, grumbling.

David curled around John, his chest to John's back, his dick tight between John's legs with the head nudging his balls, rubbing his foot along John's leg while he reached around to start jacking John off with slow hard strokes. John swore and shoved his ass back, riding David's dick while he fucked his hand. David groaned and told John that he was coming first, and John said _in your dreams_ , and they tried to each push the other over the edge, ridiculous and perfect and nothing David could ever have predicted so many years ago.

His body knew this: the feel of John, the way he moved, the way David wanted to make him fall apart, the smell of John's sweat, the hundreds of other times they'd fucked in this bed and on Atlantis, on that one trip to Earth, a couple of times in a puddle jumper, David's hands and mouth on every part of John, studying and learning him, holding himself open to equal scrutiny and exploration, and at the end of it all... here they were. Bodies pressed together in desperation, fucking and being fucked, wracked with need, memory in motion.

John twisted his head around and David pushed up to complete the kiss. John was breathing hard, open-mouthed, shuddering as David took him apart, and when he came David caught the wreckage of words that tumbled from his mouth – his name, God's, _please_ , _love_. David kept fucking John until he fell silent, and then shifted awkwardly back so he could work his own dick while still holding on to John, sliding the head from his fingers up the sweat-slick crack of John's ass. He wished he could let the buildup to orgasm go on forever, the spiral of tension and anticipation, but he was also racing towards release, teeth gritted to hold his own desperate bargains with God in even as he pressed his forehead to the back of John's neck. He felt John's hand stroke fever-hot over his hip and he was gone, helpless against a riptide of unstoppable bliss.

He pulled John back against him, not caring about the mess, just wanting to keep the perfect feeling for a while longer. John seemed content to doze, as relaxed as a housecat. David scratched his stomach idly, trying to get him to purr.

"I let you win," John said sleepily. "I had a plan."

"You're staying?" David asked, even though he wasn't sure why he was suddenly feeling insecure.

John's chest rose and fell – a sigh, probably – and he sat up. "Until I have to go, yeah," he said, and ruffled David's hair. "We need to wash up. And find clean sheets."

"I miss showers," David said, and then felt ungrateful. John had dug their well himself, and had built the shelter over it. "Is there hot water?"

"I put the kettle on after supper," John said, and then had to add, "because I know you're a wuss." He got to his feet, holding his weight on his good leg for a moment. He held out a hand. "Come on."

David grumbled but took his hand. He trusted John.

He forgot again in the morning where John was going and why John was putting on his old uniform and strapping on his gun.

"Shouldn't take that long," John said, kissing David on the front porch before heading off down the lane that led to town.

It took two weeks by his meticulously-kept calendar for David to stop thinking that he'd turn around and John'd be there; in another two weeks he had to keep re-reading passages from his diaries to remind himself that John wouldn't leave him. The first four volumes were in notebooks from Earth, with thin bleached paper covered with entries in ballpoint pen. The last six were a hodgepodge, picked up at local markets, colorful stitching holding together rough pulp paper in shades of brown and pink. 

John's old military ID card and his driver's license were glued to the inside cover of the third volume. David had no idea why, but he liked having pictures of John, even the bad ones.

David spent his days working in the fields, teaching people who'd never grown crops before about irrigation and fertilizer, and how to spot a weed or a pest. He visited friends, occasionally going down to the port city and spending a night or two there, but he never considered bringing anyone home; even if John'd never know, David would. He'd write it in his diary so he couldn't forget, and he'd feel like an asshole. Who needed that?

Teyla came by the house with her children once or twice a week, and each time Torren John seemed to be taller and more likely to give Teyla a tragic stare of teenaged despair when she asked him to sweep the floors or air the bedding. Tagan Nuing was quiet, like her father, but curious about everything. David could lose hours with her in the kitchen garden, explaining the lives of the plants and their uses. He had a healthy patch of local enchuri, and Tagan had heard the story over and over of how her mother's knowledge of medicinal plants had saved Atlantis and then Earth.

Teyla accused him of trying to turn her daughter into a botanist. David probably failed at convincing her of his innocence.

Solstice came and went, and the days grew shorter, and David found himself increasingly reluctant to leave his house for any length of time. He had a recurring dream of walking through a forested city and being terrified to look behind, for fear that there was nothing there but empty darkness. The new doctor from town came to talk with him, sent out by someone who was concerned about his health and/or mental well-being, but David didn't have anything to say to her. He gave her a blossoming armful of enchuri and sent her on her way.

Autumn started with thundershowers and a change in the wind, giving David the unsettled feeling that great storms would be upon the land soon and preparations should be made. David checked the shutters over the windows, and asked Kanaan to send up someone who knew about roofs, to make sure the shingles were tight and all there. Normally, David didn't need to worry about the roof, but this year the responsibility for keeping things from falling apart had fallen to him. The work kept him busy; he was grateful for that.

He was sitting at his desk one night, candlelight dancing from the bowl as he drew up a schedule for canning while making a list on a separate paper of the things he'd need to trade for to make it through the winter. The front porch creaked, and David's heart skipped a beat before he could make himself stand. Someone knocked; he supposed they'd seen the light. He told himself it was the doctor needing herbs, or Teyla, or the roofer, or someone who'd taken the wrong turn at the crossroads. People were always getting lost up here.

He kept telling himself that as he crossed to unbar the door and pull it open, and then felt lightheaded as all the sensible explanations were swept aside by the reality of John standing there in ragged clothes, bearded, skinny, _alive_.

"Sorry," John said, and David wondered what for. Maybe for the way John was staring, like he was trying to memorize David's appearance, record every detail.

"Are you here for good?" David asked, reaching out and touching John's cheek, whiskers rough against his palm. "You're home?"

"Yeah," John said, and gave David a shy smile. "If that's okay with you."

"Yes," David said. "Yes," as he stepped back, catching John's hand and pulling him inside. He barred the door and brushed a kiss over John's mouth as John's arms came up around him, and David felt a bright joy well up. "I missed you," he said, hugging back tight and not wanting to let go.

"Course you did," John said, because he always felt compelled to make a joke out of awkward feelings.

"No, really." David put his head on John's shoulder. "I just... I did. I wanted this. You. I want you to stay."

"As long as I can," John said after a moment, and David thought that was a fitting summary to all that they had together. That's all they were, together as long as they chose to be, but after a while making that choice, continuing to make that choice, felt more like a victory than a sacrifice as the years passed.

Tomorrow he'd ask John about the war, and tell him about the roof and the canning and Torren John's latest embarrassment at the hands of his parents, but right now he had John back. Right now was everything he'd ever wanted.

David breathed in slow, feeling John's chest rise and fall in matching rhythm. He pulled back, so he could look John in the eyes. "Be here in the morning." He leaned in to kiss away whatever John might have answered. David would forget the words anyway, but he had his reply in the way John held him and kissed him, in the way there were dozens of doors along the road but John came home to this house, in the way John stayed, as if it was as simple as David wanting and John giving, over and over, as long as they could.


End file.
